InDependent
by Glum n Dumb Skittery
Summary: (rated for language, death) You'd think after years of experience of being a newsie on these condemned streets run by the rich snobs and powerful bastards, I'd be used to things like this by now. But it never gets old. It never will. ONE-SHOT.


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A/N: Today I got home early from school and hopped onto the computer. SongJapan.Com immediately came up on the screen. I listened. Incessantly. For three hours. To the same song. Over and over and over again. Inspiration struck. Happy reading. **All standard disclaimers apply.**

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"If someone takes something important from you, then be sure you take it back. But, don't look for happiness in material goods, 'cause the thing that truly bonds us with one another is the fact that we've all lost things we'll never recover. That's what makes us human." -Get-Backers

  
  
**(In)Dependent**

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You'd think after years of experience of being a newsie on these condemned streets run by the rich snobs and powerful bastards, I'd be used to things like this by now.  
  
But it never gets old. It never will.  
  
And it damn well never should.  
  
"Oh, _shit_!! ITEY! Itey, are you okay? Oh God, Itey, wake up!"**  
  
**Snitch has broken through the throng of boys gathered around the small, lifeless body of the curly-haired boy, bloodied and beaten on the cobblestones. Our resident thumb-sucker continues, in vain, to try and wake up the boy who shares his bunk. Nothing. Tears splash down his face onto Itey's clothing. Nothing. He shakes his friend's small frame by the shoulders. Nothing. He breaks down and sobs.  
  
And we walk away.  
  
It's always the same. 

I stumble away, resting heavily against the walls of nearby brick buildings until I reach an alley. I feel myself falling and crawl inside. I promptly release every sloshing drop of bile that has risen in my throat and my stomach heaves until there is nothing left. The bitter liquid clings to my lips. The tears are still heavy in my eyes.  
  
It always happens.  
  
It will never stop.  
  
And it shouldn't. Not ever.  
  
God, I hate blood.

  
Snitch's wails are still very audible. I drag myself away from the bitter puddle I'd left behind and watch the scene unfolding before me. Kid Blink is pulling Snitch away from the corpse, his eyebrows furrowed, murmuring words in a low voice that doesn't reach me. Jack is there, too, but is looking anywhere but at Itey and Snitch. His face is unusually pale. Davey is right next to him, his face holding an expression of complete and total horror, salty trails stain his cheeks.   
  
So lost.

As well he should be.  
  
Itey is dead. And there's nothing we can do about it.  
  
"EXTRY, EXTRY, READ ALL ABOUT IT!" Boots is somewhere down the street, yelling out the headlines at the top of his lungs. Selling without me. Typical.   
  
It's every kid for himself out here. Screw everything that happened during the strike. When it comes down to it, you can only care about one person and one person only: yourself.  
  
Those tears on Snitch's cheeks? 

Nothing.

Nothing more than the loss of warmth at night and a selling partner. Nothing more than the fear of change, the fear of loss. The fear of trying to make it with one less person on his side.   
  
The terrified expression on Davey's face?  
  
Nothing.  
  
Nothing more than the fear of pure death. The shattering of the illusion that people die old and of natural causes. Nothing more.  
  
The anxiety lacing Blink's face?  
  
Nothing.  
  
Nothing more than the fear of a valued ally having to strike it out on the streets for the night if he doesn't get back to work and earn himself some money. That could mean the death of another. The death of Snitch. And then we'd be right back to the tears and the nothingness of it all.

Maybe the only one who realizes this is Jack. Staring off to the side, last few papes of the day resting casually between his arm and his hip, trying to see who was left on the streets as potential customers. He tilts his head slightly, lips pursed, and he finally takes a glance at Itey. I try to read his expression.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Simply blank. And I know he knows. Just like I do.  
  
So, Itey is dead. That's just one loss on all of humanity. Out of the millions of us here we have lost but one. And what's to be expected?   
  
Many expect all time to stop. He was close to every single one of us at the Lodging House. We should be mourning.   
  
But, what do we do? What we should be doing. Carrying the banner. Selling our papes. Making a living. Letting life drag on.

Because what do we care? _Why_ should we care? What are we, really? Newsies. Damn right. That's all we'll ever be. Day after day. We know that. What makes you think we know what we're going to be doing after we get too old, too old to remain a Newsie, too old to stay in the Lodging House? We breathe for now. We run for conformity. We live for ourselves. And who's to say anything to stop us?  
  
No one. That's right. Damn right.  
  
So, as Snitch stumbles into the Lodging House, leaning heavily on Kid, Kloppman holding the door open with a pitiful look on his face, as Jack claps Davey on the shoulder and they turn to leave, as Boots comes running down the street towards me, I grin at the one thought coursing through my mind.  
  
I could sure use a cigar.  


"Snipes!" He cries and I glance up. "C'mon," he motions erratically with his hands, "I ain't gonna sell the rest of the papes alone!"  
  
I nod and hop down. "Yeah, yeah, I's comin'," is my only response. I glance back one last time at the dead body of Itey, several men gathered around it, preparing to cart it off.   


_So long, pal. Nice knowing ya.  
  
_You'd think after years of experience of being a newsie on these condemned streets run by the rich snobs and powerful bastards, I'd be used to things like this by now.  
  
But it never gets old. It never will.  
  
And it damn well never should.  
  
But, for now, it's back to selling papes.   
  
And, God, I could really use that damn cigar right about now.   
  
**-fin-  
  
A/N:** Well, that came out a little more cynical than I'd first intended. Can't believe I just did something involving Cynical!Snipeshooter. It kind of scares me. I'm thinking I need to let up on the angst for future stories. Bah. Please review. Thanks for reading. Cheers.


End file.
